


All Hallows' Eve

by ragandboneshopoftheheart



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Ghost!Laura, Hallowe'en
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 16:59:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragandboneshopoftheheart/pseuds/ragandboneshopoftheheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"On Samhain night, the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest," Derek said, as if reciting something he'd learned off by heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Hallows' Eve

Stiles jogged up to where Scott was taking his books out of his locker. "So, what are your plans for Hallowe'en?" he said.

Scott slammed his locker shut and made a tragic face as he shouldered his bag and headed out of the school. "I don't have any. I guess I'll stock up on candy and try to be nice to the neighborhood kids. You?"

"Well, I was going to try sneaking in to Lydia's party," said Stiles, following him, "but she's not having one this year. And besides, this Hallowe'en's going to be a full moon."

Isaac appeared at Stiles' shoulder. "Derek said we need to stay inside for this moon," he said.

"Not that I'm going out or anything," said Scott, annoyed, "but is that really necessary? I haven't gone wild on the full moon in months. I have it under control, and so do you."

Stiles bit his thumbnail, his desire not to side with Isaac warring with his desire to share what he'd learned with Scott. Knowledge won out, as usual. "No, he's right," he said. "Hallowe'en is a special time of year, dude. All kinds of supernatural weirdness going on. It'd probably be wise to stay inside even if it weren't a full moon. Since it is..." 

He trailed off suggestively. Scott looked from him to Isaac, and Isaac shrugged, apologetic. "Derek wasn't exactly specific. You know what he's like. He just said we should stay inside, and that he wouldn't be able to help us."

"Wait, what?" said Stiles. "Did he say why?"

"All he said was that he had business to take care of," said Isaac. "I didn't want to ask." He frowned. "Well, no, I wanted to, I just didn't think it would do any good."

"I don't like the sound of that," said Stiles. "What is he up to?"

"Does it matter?" said Scott. "I'm more concerned about having to be locked up again. Ugh, I really thought we were past all that."

"I'm pretty sure it's a one-off," said Stiles. "Probably next full moon, you'll be fine. But Derek not wanting to help? That's a red flag, man. When has he ever wanted to leave you alone on the full moon?" 

Scott and Isaac exchanged worried glances. "I don't know," said Scott. "I mean... if he wants to do something by himself, that's his business. Right?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "His business has a way of becoming our business, sooner or later. In case you haven't noticed, he doesn't really have a life. Everything he does has got something to do with your furry little problem. Somebody should keep an eye on him."

"Are you volunteering?" said Scott, raising one eyebrow.

Stiles opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again. Closed it again. "Okay, I did not think through all the ramifications of where this conversation was heading," he said glumly.

Scott laughed. "Well, I can't do it. None of _us_ can. It's pretty much got to be you."

Stiles shook his head. "Okay, you know what? Let's just forget I mentioned it."

But it was easier to tell Scott to forget something than it was for Stiles to actually forget it. After he'd finished his chemistry homework that night, he did some Googling, not even digging very deep, and quickly found more information about Samhain and ghosts and witches than he knew what to do with. None of it seemed specific to werewolves, though, and even when he got creative and looked up stuff about blue moons, he didn't find any hints about what Derek might be up to. Which meant he might be up to _anything_. Including stuff that had nothing to do with Hallowe'en, which he could easily be using as an excuse to get the betas out of the way so he could do... whatever it was... without interference. 

The more he thought about it, the more it worried him. He didn't think Derek would be slitting people's throats while they slept or anything else pointlessly vicious; he had _some_ faith in the man's morals. He had less faith in his judgment. It would be just like Derek to try and pull off some sort of special ritual on Hallowe'en without any help and then be completely unprepared for the fallout. 

Really, when he put it like that, it began to sound like he had a positive obligation to snoop around and watch Derek on Hallowe'en night. 

Stiles stocked up beforehand: night vision binoculars, glow-in-the-dark compass in case his phone died and he couldn't use the compass app, a little sealed baggie of mountain ash, and another one of powdered wolfsbane; plus some salt, just in case there were ghosts. (Holy water would have been nice, but Stiles didn't have the faintest idea how to get holy water on short notice without mugging a priest, which would get him into the kind of trouble he couldn't talk his way out of.)

He waited until the first trick-or-treaters were out and about before he left, his supplies in his school backpack and his jeep's tank full of gas. Isaac had said something about Derek being at the Hale house that night, so he drove to the Preserve, parking the jeep a mile from the house and jogging the rest of the way -- or most of the rest of the way. He wasn't going to get close unless it seemed absolutely necessary. He was going to watch from a distance and remain unnoticed.

At least, that was the plan, and it was a good plan, as long as you ignored the fact that Derek's ability to detect a lone human in the woods was far more advanced than Stiles' ability to go undetected.

The trouble was, the binoculars had a great range -- longer than he needed, really -- but they wouldn't let him see through solid tree trunks, and the trees around the house were closer together than he'd remembered, so when he caught sight of Derek, doing something that looked vaguely ritualistic behind the house, a dozen or so yards from the ruins, he couldn't see _what_ Derek was doing without coming closer. He did his best to move quietly, but even so, when he got himself settled again and adjusted the focus on the binoculars, his first glimpse of Derek was Derek glaring directly at him.

And beckoning him.

Stiles swallowed, and stuffed the binoculars into his bag, before making a quick calculation -- how far was his jeep? how fast could he run? how fast could Derek run? how mad would Derek be if Stiles ignored his summons? -- and concluding that running away would be very foolish indeed.

He put the baggie of wolfsbane in his pocket, just in case, and made his way to where Derek was standing. In a clearing near the house there was a patch of bare earth with nothing growing on it; Derek had drawn a circle in the earth, presumably with the length of wood he was holding in his left hand. Stiles stepped over the circle, not wanting to break it. "Uh," he said intelligently. 

"Sit down and shut up," said Derek.

"In my defence," said Stiles, "you sneak up on us all the time, and turnabout is fair play."

Derek drew something else on the ground: a triangle, and inside it, a spiral. "What part of 'sit down and shut up' are you having trouble with?"

"Just to clarify, is that 'sit down and shut up so I can murder you more efficiently' or 'sit down and shut up because I need to concentrate on this super-secret magic ritual'?"

Derek stopped what he was doing and glared. "It _was_ the second one," he said. "It'll be the first one if you don't _sit down and shut up_." He frowned, and sniffed the air. "Do you have wolfsbane?"

"Um," said Stiles, and when Derek dropped the piece of wood and held his hand out with an impatient expression, he sighed and dropped the baggie into his palm. "It was just a precaution."

Derek tossed the baggie beyond the edge of the circle. "You can pick it up when this is done. Got any other little surprises I should know about?"

"A little mountain ash," said Stiles, and was it his imagination, or did Derek look a little hurt? "Hey, don't look at me in that tone of voice," he muttered, digging the baggie out of his backpack and tossing it out of the circle himself. "I didn't know what you were doing, because you never tell anyone anything. I just wanted to be prepared."

Derek frowned, and turned back to the symbol he'd drawn in the dirt. He picked up three candles that had been lying on the ground near the edge of the circle, and planted them in the dirt, one at each point of the triangle. "What _are_ you doing?" said Stiles quietly. 

"Sh," said Derek, taking a cigarette lighter out of his pocket. "This is the last time I'm going to say it. Stay still, don't leave the circle, and don't make a sound." 

Stiles sat down, biting the insides of his cheeks to keep the questions from spilling out. Derek looked up at the sky, where clouds were covering the moon; when they moved aside, and the moon's light covered the house and the patch of dirt where they were sitting, he lit the three candles and knelt on the ground. 

Stiles held his breath, waiting, waiting, waiting -- for what, he didn't know. Wolves were patient. He'd read about how a wolf would stalk a rabbit, holding perfectly still for hours at a time, letting the rabbit get used to its presence, waiting for the precise moment when the rabbit would come close enough that the wolf could pounce before the rabbit could leap away. Derek wasn't a wolf, but he had a wolf's patience, a wolf's willingness to wait for important things. 

The change came gradually, only a flicker in the air at first, and if he hadn't been watching Derek, Stiles would have missed it. There was a minute shift in Derek's expression, a slight increase in the tension of his shoulders, and when Stiles looked where Derek was looking, he saw something pale and translucent appearing over the spiral. It took long minutes for the shape to grow solid and to take a form Stiles could recognise, and it somehow didn't surprise him in the least when what he saw at last was a wolf with a pale silver-grey pelt and eyes the same greeny-hazel as Derek's.

He bit his lip to keep from calling out. The wolf was beautiful, and he thought he knew who it was, but it wasn't his place to speak.

Derek reached out with his right hand, and the wolf nosed at his palm affectionately. Derek's breath hitched, halfway between a laugh and a sob. "I miss you," he said. "I miss you every day." He inched forward carefully, stopping short of the symbol scratched into the dirt, and touched the wolf's head with his left hand, stroking it and burying his fingers into the thick ruff of fur at the wolf's neck. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should have come with you. I should have listened." The wolf barked, and leaned forward as far as it could without leaving the triangle. "I wish you were here for real," he said, and leaned his head against her neck.

They stayed like that for a long time, not moving and not speaking. Stiles couldn't tear his eyes away from them. Derek's eyes were closed and his face looked pained, almost desperate, and Stiles thought he understood. He would look the same, if he knew he could get to hug his mom one more time, but that she would be gone after a few hours.

The candles had burned halfway down their lengths before Derek straightened up and slid back on his knees, touching the wolf one last time on the back of her neck. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for everything." He closed his eyes, took a slow breath, and opened them again. "I love you," he said. "Goodbye."

He blew out one of the candles, and the wolf disappeared.

Stiles exhaled, and he felt his shoulders sagging. There was a long moment when he wasn't sure if he could move -- if there was still anything supernatural going on that he needed to be careful of -- before Derek shook his head a little, blew out the other two candles, and stood up, rubbing out the symbol with the sole of his foot. "You can move now," he said, walking to the edge of the circle and breaking it in the same way.

Stiles stood up and stretched a little. He hopped over the edge of the circle and retrieved the two baggies. "Um," he said. "That -- uh. Was that..."

"My sister," said Derek, still facing away from Stiles.

"Oh," said Stiles. It was what he'd expected. He was surprised, somehow, to hear Derek admitting it.

There was an awkward moment then, when he felt like he ought to say something, some words of reassurance or comfort or solace, but all the things he could think of to say were way too intimate to say to _Derek_. He was uncomfortably aware that he hadn't been invited, and he wasn't sure why Derek had let him see all that he'd seen. He felt as if they'd taken a quantum leap in their relationship (so that it didn't even seem strange to think of the two of them _having_ a relationship), and he no longer knew where he stood or what was allowed.

"Was there really a good reason why the others had to stay inside tonight?" he said, risking it. 

"On Samhain night, the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest," Derek said, as if reciting something he'd learned off by heart. He looked at Stiles, and hesitated. "With the moon being full, we... our kind are more sensitive than most. We can see things that aren't always visible to others. The ghosts will come whether we call them or not."

Stiles swallowed. "Isaac's father..."

Derek nodded. "He needs to be inside, with someone he can trust to take care of him. Someone with no ghosts of his own."

Stiles looked at the broken circle on the ground. "If the ghosts come whether you call them or not, why the candles? Why go to all this trouble?"

Derek stared at the place where the wolf had stood. "The circle keeps away all the ghosts who aren't wanted. The candles make a home for the ones who are." He tilted his head. "I wasn't sure it was going to work."

"I'm glad it did," said Stiles. 

Derek looked at him again, and there was sadness on his face, and gratitude, and something else Stiles couldn't decipher. "Go home," he said.

Stiles shouldered his bag and nodded. "Yeah," he said, "I'm going to do that. I'm going to go home and hug my dad for, like, an hour. You -- you're going to be all right?"

Derek looked up, and Stiles followed his gaze. The moon was lower in the sky now, only visible in slices through the trees. "The worst of it is over," he said, meeting Stiles' eyes. "The ghosts won't come again tonight."

He sounded almost as if he regretted it. 

Stiles nodded before turning around and heading back into the woods, walking the mile back to the jeep, keeping his eyes open for any sight of a wolf with a silver pelt.

[end]


End file.
